How Many Candles A Sequel
by RevSue
Summary: Is it really Nanny's birthday? The Everetts take a chance and follow a family tradition ....


_Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, and I make no money from this work of fiction!_

HOW MANY CANDLES? SEQUEL

"It IS Nanny's birthday!" Hal informed his father as they ushered him into the kitchen gaily decorated with streamers.

"And we decided to celebrate!" Prudence beamed up at him.

"Well, and give her a porcupine, eh?" the Professor looked at the large, roaster-sized cake covered with 3 large candles and many small ones. He wondered just HOW many candles they had put on the cake!

Prudence giggled. "No, daddy, it's a cake!"

"Oh, a GRAPE cake! You know, I don't think I've ever seen purple icing before!" He wasn't really sure he ever wanted to again. It was rather a revolting colour for a cake. Still, the children had worked hard for this, and it was a very nice thing for them to do. He knew that Nanny would appreciate the sentiment, too, and praise them lavishly.

"It was supposed to be lavender because Nanny likes that colour!" Prudence confided.

The Professor nodded. He could have guessed that. She wore a lot of the pale purple colour, and favoured that scent as well. There followed a discussion wherein it was decided how to light all the candles and have them remain lit until Nanny could see it.

"I'll, ah, I'll go get the birthday girl ..." and the Professor made his escape.

Striding down the hallway and climbing the stairs, he once again found himself wondering just how old Nanny really was! 107? The boys HAD to have made a mistake! But Hal had claimed that everything written on the passport page fit. Phoebe Figalilly, height five feet two inches, blue eyes, blonde hair. The only puzzling line was: Born in Macao, China. April 18, 1864. RIDICULOUS! IMPOSSIBLE! He ignored the memory of Prudence assuring him that 'Nanny said that NOTHING is impossible.'

As he approached her bedroom door, he raised his hand to knock, and heard her call out, "Come in, Professor." Shaking his head in disbelief, wondering how she always knew, he opened the door and peeked in.

"I'm just putting a bow in my hair, to make things appear more festive," she smiled at him in the mirror. Then she swung around, an anxious look on her face. "But PLEASE, Professor, you won't tell the children I knew about the party?"

He stared at her, silently shaking his head. She smiled and turned back to plumping up the ribbon tied at the back of her head. She was looking lovely tonight -- fragile, delicate and very old-world-y in a cream-coloured blouse and long skirt. Her colour was a little better than it had been that morning, he noted. She was obviously well on her way to recovery from the 'Dreaded Lurgy', that scourge of the Figalillys when the wind changed on them! He smiled at the memory, then focussed again on Nanny as she came towards him. "I'm ready to be surprised, Professor."

"Allow me, Miss Figalilly!" and he gallantly offered her his arm to escort her down the stairs.

Keeping her eyes tightly closed as they all led her into the kitchen, Nanny stood obediently where the children directed her. When prompted, she opened her eyes and exclaimed at the brilliantly-lit cake, "Oh, it's stupendous! It's lovely!" Her eyes widened as she saw the elaborate decorations hanging in the kitchen.

"Happy birthday, Nanny!" the children sang out.

The Professor grinned at her. "Do you think there are enough candles on it?" he asked, indicating the glowing cake.

"I don't know, Professor, I haven't had time to count yet!" she laughed.

"I wouldn't try, and maybe you better blow them out before the neighbours call the fire department!" he chuckled, although he remained a little astounded that she hadn't automatically denied being anywhere near old enough to require so many candles.

Surprisingly enough, given its outward appearance, the cake was quite delicious. Hal's experience with chemistry experiments had obviously come in handy, as well as his ability to read and follow directions. After Nanny had exclaimed over the picture of the children dressed for Francine's costume party which had, it seemed, arrived in response to her wish, she had passed around pieces of cake. Even Waldo was granted a place at the table and a plate of his own.

"What a lovely birthday party!" Nanny said warmly, beaming at the children.

"I guess you've had a lot of them in your time, huh, Nanny?" Hal said, slyly. He was still very curious about the passport they had seen.

"I guess I have!" she agreed cheerfully.

"HOW many?" asked Butch, carefully gauging her response.

"Are you asking me how old I am, Butch?" she asked directly.

"No!" Butch exclaimed, aware that he had crossed the boundary of good manners, and trying to make it clear to her that he was simply curious. "I just wanna know how many birthdays you've had!"

"Oh, I see." Nanny nodded wisely. Then, with the air of one delivering a vital truth, she added, "You know, one should never trust a woman who tells one her real age. A woman who tells one that would tell one anything!" She smiled around then looked down at her cake as she took another bite.

"Nanny, is that something your great aunt used to say?" the Professor asked. "The one who lived so long?"

"Oh, Aunt Phoebe was a simple soul, Professor. No, I was quoting Oscar Wilde." she took another bite, meditatively.

"That's the one that wrote Dorian Gray," Hal told Butch, who nodded.

"Did you say, Aunt Phoebe?" the Professor stared at her.

"Yes, Professor."

"Was she very close to you?" he leaned a little closer. At last! This made much more sense ... to have the passport of an aunt for whom she had been named.

"Oh yes, we were very alike in many ways." Nanny said warmly, a reminiscent smile crossing her face.

"You don't say," Positive that he had solved the mystery of the passport, the Professor congratulated himself.

"Well, I think I'd better start tidying up here ..." Nanny began to gather things together.

Before she could get up, the Professor put his hand on her arm and stopped her. Perhaps his self-congratulations were premature! "Uhh, Nanny, in what ways are you like your aunt Phoebe?"

"Oh, in every way." Nanny assured him. "I look very like her. More like her than my mother, really."

"Oh. And Aunt Phoebe was born in China."

"Yes, in Macao." she agreed. Then she stared at him. "How did you know that, Professor?"

"Oh..." He waved his hand vaguely in the air by his head, as if to say he had his ways. "And today would be her birthday, too." At last, a reasonable, logical explanation!

"Oh, no." Nanny shook her head quickly. "No, Aunt Phoebe was born in November. A lovely Libra person. Dear Aunt Phoebe. She had quite a thing about birthdays. She always used to say, 'It's not where or when we're born that counts, it's how we live.' Shall we make a last toast, Professor? To growing old gracefully." Perhaps it was time to change the subject. The Professor didn't seem to want to let this matter rest, and she had no intentions whatever of telling him the truth!

He was still puzzled and thoughtful, frowning as they clinked glasses. Then he realized that Nanny's aunt Phoebe wouldn't have been a Figalilly anyway, since she appeared to have been related on the mother's side of the family. So whose passport was Nanny keeping in her trunk? He absolutely refused to believe it was her own!

Nanny leaned back in her chair and sighed with delight. "If I live to be 108, I couldn't have a more beautiful birthday."

"Maybe you will." the Professor muttered, then added, at her puzzled look, "Live to be 108."

Her smile was wide. "Maybe we both will!"

"Why did you keep it a secret?" he asked her, suddenly.

"Keep what a secret?" she asked guilelessly.

"Your birthday."

"Well, I didn't exactly keep it a secret," she began, frowning slightly.

"Well, you didn't exactly ... " he stopped, then demanded, "it IS your birthday ...?"

"Well, it is now ..." she smiled, waving expansively at the cake, the picture, the decorations and the beaming faces of the children..

"Nanny!" he warned her.

"Yes, Professor," she said quickly and obediently, "it IS my birthday." Then she added, "That make you feel better?"

"YES." he said emphatically, yet with a smile.

"Nanny," Prudence asked pensively as she licked the last of the icing off her fork, "aren't you GLAD it's your birthday?"

"It's the nicest surprise. I've never had one quite like it before! More cake anybody?" Nanny asked, and Waldo barked again.

"I think not, Waldo!" the Professor said, sternly. "Now, I believe it's bedtime for you kids."

"I can clean up, if you want, Dad," Hal said, looking around at the kitchen and thinking he could stay up a few more minutes that way.

"No, thank you, Hal," Nanny said, quickly. "I can do it. It's the least I can do for such a marvellous family."

"Okay, then," Hal said, somewhat disappointed. Then he stood up and came around to Nanny, and kissed her on the cheek. "Well, Happy Birthday, Nanny!"

"Why, Hal, thank you!" she said, touched at his actions.

"Yeah, Happy Birthday, Nanny," Butch came over and followed suit, although his kiss was much more fleeting.

"It's our family tradition, Nanny," the Professor explained as Prudence threw her arms around Nanny's neck and gave her a big hug accompanied by a loud smack.

"Happy Birthday, Nanny! I love you." Prudence whispered.

"Thank you, darling. I love you, too!" Nanny whispered back, sudden, inexplicable tears pricking at her eyelids.

"Off to bed, kids!" the Professor ordered.

"Aren't YOU going to give Nanny her birthday kiss, Daddy?" Prudence asked.

"Eh?" he looked startled, then cleared his throat self-consciously.

"Yeah, you said it was tradition." Butch said. "That's why I did it! So I think you should, too, or it's not fair!"

Faint colour rose in Nanny's face, and she stood up hurriedly, "Well, now, your father has had to tell you TWICE to go up to bed. Don't you think you should go? I'll begin gathering up the dishes ..."

The three children trooped upstairs, leaving the Professor still sitting at the table while Nanny bustled around gathering the plates together and putting the cake away. She kept up a continuous chatter as she worked, and he only paid scant attention. Part of him was still puzzling over the passport, and the other part was wondering whether or not he WAS going to give Nanny her birthday kiss. Suddenly he realized that she was once again hard at work cleaning up the kitchen, when only this morning she had admitted to just feeling slightly better after her attack of whatever it was that had laid her low the day before. When he studied her, he realized that she did look a little pale.

"Nanny ..." he interrupted her stream of inconsequential babble.

"Yes, Professor?" she turned to look at him in surprise, then her face relaxed into a smile. "I DO apologize, Professor, for talking so much."

For a moment his eyes roved over her lovely, animated face. "No," he said at last, "it's I who should apologize. I love listening to your voice ..." He felt a faint shock as he said that, but realized how true it was. Then he added hastily, "not to mention your stories!"

Her eyes dropped and her face flushed becomingly. She said in a low voice, "Thank you. I ... I was a terrible chatterbox when I was a child, back in the days when a child was to be seen and not heard! It seems I haven't quite grown up yet, have I?"

His bright blue eyes took in her appearance. "Oh, I think you have, Miss Figalilly. I think you have grown up very well indeed."

Her flush deepened and she turned away. "Thank you," she murmured almost inaudibly. Then she took a deep breath. This would never do! She must get control of herself!

"Nanny? Why don't you let me finish up here? You should go lie down again. You're not fully recovered."

He snatched at the apron strings even as she asked in a teasing voice if she really looked that bad.

"Of course not!" he muttered. "Come on, give me the apron," and they tussled a little over the apron. At last he gave in. "Nanny, you're more stubborn than I am," he sighed. "And yes, that's saying a lot!"

Filling the sink with water and suds, he asked politely, "Would you rather wash or dry?"

"I can do both ..."

"Nanny!" Exasperated, he almost shouted at her.

"Dry," she said, quickly. Then her smile blossomed out again. "Thank you. It WILL be nice not to have dishpan hands on my birthday!"

"So, tell me, Nanny," he spoke daringly once they were started on the dishes, "were there enough candles on the cake?"

"Professor, are you trying to ask the same thing Butch was earlier?" she looked at him archly. "My Aunt Phoebe used to say ..." and she was once again telling another wildly outrageous story about her fantastic relatives.

As he stood beside her, laughing and teasing each other as they did the dishes, the Professor found himself inexplicably thinking about his late wife. The two of them often used to almost make a game of cleaning up the kitchen, and for some reason, this felt so right with Nanny. He realized with a start that he was as close to being supremely happy as he had felt since his wife's premature death some years back. As he washed the last dish and snatched the towel out of Nanny's hands to dry it, he found himself thinking back again. Flipping the tea towel over her head the way he used to do with his wife, he pulled Nanny into his arms, firmly against him. The heat of his body enveloped her through the thin blouse she wore.

Her eyes widened as she stared up at him, and her lips parted as she barely breathed, "Professor?"

Stunned by his own actions and the memories and emotions washing over him, he remained immobile, staring into her eyes. Even as he noticed her blue eyes darkening, a flash of mild apprehension in their depths, he registered the fact that her body was reacting to his proximity when her nipples hardened, pressing into his chest. Immediately, his lower body jumped to attention, and he was achingly aware that not since his wife's death had he felt this strongly about a woman.

Meanwhile, Nanny was thinking to herself, 'I must put such feelings out of my mind! After all, it never behooves one to dwell on things that cannot be changed, does it? The Professor is not for me!' Her hands pressed against his chest, but it did not yield. She pressed again, more urgently. She was fully aware of the danger that lay not so much within him as within herself. His burning look dropped to her lips and he almost imperceptibly moved closer. For one almost horrified moment, she thought he was going to kiss her full on the lips. What should she do? She suddenly wanted his kisses more than she had ever wanted anything in her life, but she knew it could not happen. She was not free, and it was not right for her to dream in such a manner! She wondered if she had left the practical part of her brain in her room, allowing only the Figalilly part to come downstairs with her. She should not allow herself to be in any way attracted to him, as it would not be fair to either of them. She had to keep her priorities straight.

The Professor KNEW he was going to kiss her, but he was forced to wonder if just one kiss would cool the inexplicable desire he was feeling for her. After all, as far as he knew, she WAS 107 years old! Rather out of his league, he feared. "A kiss IS our family's birthday tradition." he offered in a low voice, more to convince himself than her.

"Phone, Professor, it's for you ..." she whispered.

She sensed his surprise at her words, then indecision, then, when the phone rang an instant later, he dropped a quick but firm kiss on her cheek. "Happy birthday, Phoebe," he said huskily, and turned away to answer the phone.

Nanny clutched the edge of the counter and closed her eyes, sagging slightly. Then one trembling hand crept up to her cheek, cradling the spot his lips had touched. Her mind remained fixated on the incredible thought that the Professor had just kissed her. Birthday tradition or no, she could still feel the passion that had underlain the simple salutation. Knowing she had to escape to her room and recover her usual aplomb, she almost scuttled past the Professor who was arguing with Professor Fisk about the results of their golf game that afternoon. Ignoring his belated call to return, she gained her sanctuary, thankful that after a night of fierce self-lecturing, she would be back to normal come morning.


End file.
